


Garden of Eden

by TheMarkOfEyghon



Series: Inked Flowers [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: 5 + 1, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-17 03:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20614217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarkOfEyghon/pseuds/TheMarkOfEyghon
Summary: “Oh, I wasn’t working! These are for you.” Randall said, shaking Ripper’s hand awkwardly with his right hand and then offering him the mason jar that he’d been holding in his left. “I thought it would brighten up the place for you.”***5 times that Randall enters Ripper's tattoo shop, and one time that Ripper enters Randall's flower shop.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Eclectic_Bookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/gifts).

> I got prompted to write a fic like this...many months ago. It's just been sitting in my drafts. I don't have any reason for it, just executive dysfunction. Anyway, enjoy.

“I think that’s the last of them.” Ripper huffed, lumbering forward awkwardly under the weight of the boxes precariously balanced in his grasp. He stumbled and, with a curse and a piece of sheer bad luck, lost his grip on them entirely. They slipped between his numb fingers and landed on his foot. “Son of a fucking -”

The bells chimed on the door, alerting him of someone else’s presence, and he whirled around at the same time that Philip - who’d been laughing his fool head off at the sight of Ripper’s pain - leapt up from his chair. Both of them took an uncertain step forward, only to stop and stare at the slight, pale bloke that had stepped in. Much like the two of them, he was soaked to the bone by the rain, water dripping down from his dark hair in rivulets that curved down his face, but he seemed unnaturally cheerful.

“Uh…” Philip called since Ripper was too busy trying to flex the pain out of his foot. “Sorry, mate. We’re not open? We uh, literally just opened shop… try again in a few weeks?”

“Oh, no! I’m not here for a tattoo!”

His cheeks turned red. He looked like a drowned rat and Ripper, in his pain, had no sympathy for him.

“Closed means closed.” He snapped, annoyed. “Just fucking opened the doors. We can’t do anything for you, mate.”

“Ripper!” Philip hissed, lowly. He wasn’t near enough to kick him, but if he had been, Ripper knew he would for possibly scaring a “potential” client.

“Uh…” The boy said, his cheeks reddening further. “I wasn’t - I mean… I’m Randall! I own the shop across the street?”

He gestured, vaguely, and Ripper suddenly realized he was holding a mason jar of flowers in one hand.

“...You own the flower shoppe?” Ripper guessed.

“Randall” nodded, eagerly. “Yeah! Garden of Eden! That’s uh… anyway. I saw that you guys were just moving in, over here, and I thought I’d come say hi since we’re going to be neighbors and all. But… this is a bad time and I shouldn’t have just popped in I….”

His face started to fall as Ripper’s harsh words seemed to have only finally reached him. And Ripper winced. Nice. He’d been in the shop for fifteen minutes and already managed to upset a neighbor. Christ.

“No! No, it’s fine. Ignore me, I just dropped a fucking box of my foot.” He said, stepping forward with a slight limp. He held out his hand to shake Randall’s. “Glad to meet you. Name’s Ripper. But, uh, you didn’t have to rush over here in the middle of work…”

His eyes trailed back to the mason jar of flowers.

“Oh, I wasn’t working! These are for you.” Randall said, shaking Ripper’s hand awkwardly with his right hand and then offering him the mason jar that he’d been holding in his left. “I thought it would brighten up the place for you.”

“You…”

Ripper turned his head, shooting a look at Philip. Silently asking him for confirmation that he was hearing what he was hearing. This slight, slip of a man - a BOY really - saw the two of them opening up a bloody tattoo parlor of all places, and thought that they’d want a jar of flowers? Was he bloody stupid or just cheerfully optimistic?

Philip just stared back at him, equally confused, but shrugged and started to whistle a cheery tune, grabbing a box and leaving Ripper to deal with the little, overzealous florist. Typical.

Ripper turned back to him, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully. He didn’t want to be mean, but…

“I don’t know if we really need… I mean, that’s nice of you and all, but I don’t think flowers are -”

“Oh, don’t worry. They’re free. I’m not making you pay for it.” Randall clarified, stepping away from Ripper and moving over the counter. He set the mason jar down in an empty space, next to the computer that they’d be using to book appointments. “See? It really brightens the room. They’re bells of Ireland - for luck with your new shop.”

They look like a bunch of green shit to Ripper. He, wisely, doesn’t say that though.

“Thanks.” He says, instead, wondering how subtly he could toss them after he left.

“No problem!”

Randall’s cheery smile was so bright that it nearly illuminated the room on its own and Ripper felt his stomach flip. Oh, fu -

“Well, I better get back to my shop. It was nice meeting you, though!”

And then he was gone, bustling out as quickly as he’d swept in, like a hurricane in reverse. Repairing damage rather than leaving any. Ripper sighed and shook his head. Being neighbors with him was going to be challenging.

“You want me to toss these?”

Philip asked, suddenly, coming back to the front now that Randall had left. He pointed to the little mason jar, fingers brushing against the glass.

Ripper grunted.

“Nah. I’ll deal with it later.”

_(But they were never moved from the counter, not even after the flowers started to wilt.)_


	2. Chapter 2

“Look, mate, either pick a design or piss off. I’ve got a lot of people to book.” Ripper said, tiredly, leaning across the counter and glowering at the man who was flipping through the design book without even leaning toward a pattern.

Ripper’d seen this type, before. Balding, sweating businessmen who’d just realized that they were invisible to the pretty, youthful birds and were now desperately bidding to make themselves feel young and wanted again. Some bought cars, some had affairs, and some like this wanker got tattoos. But Ripper’d already had a long day and was no longer interested in pussyfooting around with him.

“Hang on, hang on!” The man snapped. “I’m trying to find -”

The bells on the door chimed and Ripper stood up straight, expecting to see Philip’s four o’clock stepping in for her tattoo, but...seeing Randall, instead. Surprised, but not displeased, Ripper stepped away from the bloke who couldn’t make up his fucking mind and over to the door, where Randall was.

“Hey, mate.”

Randall beamed at the greeting. “You remember me?”

Ripper blinked at the odd question. Of course, he remembers him. Why wouldn’t he? They worked just across the street from each other; he could see Randall working in his shop when he looked over, every once in a while. Not that, ah, he looked a lot.

“Course I fucking remember you. You brought me flowers.” Ripper said, out loud. “Not doing that again, are you? The last ones died and got so nasty I had to toss the whole jar out.”

“Well, did you change their water?”

“...No. Why the fuck would I?”

“To make them last longer.”

Randall’s tone was surprisingly patient. He spoke softly, and not like he thought Ripper was an idiot, something that anyone else would have done. Most people did think he was a fucking idiot, assumed he was a bloody lughead because he was built like a fighter and covered in tattoos.

“...So, you got me a high-maintenance present?” Ripper asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Medium-maintenance.” Randall murmurs.

He seemed guilty. And that was when Ripper realized that he had another mason jar, this time full of daisies.

“No.” He said.

“C’mon, please?” Randall asked, tilting his head back. “I had so many extras… and I thought of you when I saw them because they’re nice and so are you.”

Ripper’s protest died, mid-sentence. Nice? No one’s ever called him nice…

And apparently he wasn’t the only one who had that thought. The man at the counter, who was still flipping through the book, let out a snort that he tried - and failed - to turn into a cough. Ripper turned his head and glared daggers at him.

“You almost fucking finished?” He growled out.

The man nearly dropped the book under the weight of Ripper’s glare, the smug smile sliding off of his smarmy face. Ripper grunted with satisfaction and looked back at Randall.

“Daisies don’t match the decor.” He said, shaking his head at the offer.

“It’ll brighten the place!” Randall said, not at all put-off by it. He set the jar on the counter, where the last one had been.

“The place doesn’t NEED brightening.” Ripper snapped.

But, Randall only grinned and hurried out the door. Ripper briefly thought about hucking the jar after him… but, then just clucked his tongue and turned back to the dozy bastard that was still just standing there.

“Pick a fucking PATTERN, already.”

_(Those flowers weren’t moved, either. And they lasted longer, when Ripper changed their water.)_


End file.
